Golden Histories, etc By Wathen Mark Wilks Call |
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Athanase
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 | Golden Histories, etc |  |
203
Athanase
In the early morning hours.
Wandered Athanase alone,
Ere the dew was off the flowers,
Ere the first fresh light was gone.
When the voices of the Morning,
Wind and water, chimed and rang,
When the lark with regal scorning
Into the blue æther sprang.
Wandered Athanase alone,
Ere the dew was off the flowers,
Ere the first fresh light was gone.
When the voices of the Morning,
Wind and water, chimed and rang,
When the lark with regal scorning
Into the blue æther sprang.
Athanase beheld the splendour
Of the clouds and of the skies,
Saw the colours fair and tender,
Fade before his longing eyes.
Saw a coming and a going,
White and blue, through waving trees,
As though sky and cloud were flowing
Down the smooth stream of the breeze.
Of the clouds and of the skies,
Saw the colours fair and tender,
Fade before his longing eyes.
Saw a coming and a going,
White and blue, through waving trees,
As though sky and cloud were flowing
Down the smooth stream of the breeze.
Sense of wild and wooing sweetness,
On the bosom of the morn,
More complete for incompleteness,
Rose from violets newly born,
Song of lark unseen above him,
Fainted in a long delight,
And the clouds that seemed to love him,
Soared and swooned upon his sight.
On the bosom of the morn,
More complete for incompleteness,
Rose from violets newly born,
204
Fainted in a long delight,
And the clouds that seemed to love him,
Soared and swooned upon his sight.
Then a thought, half thought, half feeling,
With sweet sorrow touch'd his soul,
Glimpses of a world revealing,
Far from man's delight and dole.
Sense of music past him flowing,
Sound of far-off endless seas,
With a coming and a going
Of glad faces in the breeze.
With sweet sorrow touch'd his soul,
Glimpses of a world revealing,
Far from man's delight and dole.
Sense of music past him flowing,
Sound of far-off endless seas,
With a coming and a going
Of glad faces in the breeze.
And advancing and retiring,
Golden shores and rivers bright,
Filled his soul with strange desiring,
And his eyes with starry light.
And he look'd through blue abysses,
Of the heaven above his head,
And he yearned to know what blisses,
Or what griefs await the Dead.
Golden shores and rivers bright,
Filled his soul with strange desiring,
And his eyes with starry light.
And he look'd through blue abysses,
Of the heaven above his head,
And he yearned to know what blisses,
Or what griefs await the Dead.
Upward soar the rocks around him,
Downward dive the rocks below,
And a mighty spell hath bound him-
Vainly, vainly would he go.
On the verge he bends him slowly,
Gazes on a quiet lake;
Deep below its waters holy
For the sky a mirror make.
Downward dive the rocks below,
And a mighty spell hath bound him-
Vainly, vainly would he go.
On the verge he bends him slowly,
Gazes on a quiet lake;
Deep below its waters holy
For the sky a mirror make.
205
Thought of joy and thought of terror!
Gazing down the grey abyss,
He beholds in that fair mirror,
Shadowy forms in shadowy bliss.
Then a yearning for completeness,
And a thirst for ampler life,
And a brightness and a sweetness
Waver in luxurious strife.
Gazing down the grey abyss,
He beholds in that fair mirror,
Shadowy forms in shadowy bliss.
Then a yearning for completeness,
And a thirst for ampler life,
And a brightness and a sweetness
Waver in luxurious strife.
Calmly standing, deeply gazing,
Turning not to left or right,
Nor depressing, nor upraising,
His fix'd vision for delight.
Gazing through those grey abysses,
Drunk with rapture and with dread,
Leaping down, he learns what blisses
And what griefs await the Dead.
Turning not to left or right,
Nor depressing, nor upraising,
His fix'd vision for delight.
Gazing through those grey abysses,
Drunk with rapture and with dread,
Leaping down, he learns what blisses
And what griefs await the Dead.
| Golden Histories, etc | |